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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669281">A Dance, Maddening</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme'>hypnoshatesme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dancing, Other, just a little spicey, unreality, vaguely historical au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:13:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669281</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypnoshatesme/pseuds/hypnoshatesme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard is taken to a ball he shouldn't go to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Dance, Maddening</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on server conversations except I generally black out every time anyone mentions masquerades because my brain starts playing an elaborate montage of my favourite disconcerting mask ball scenes in cinema.</p><p>So I think it goes a bit off from the original conversation.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Gerard wasn't meant to be here. It wasn't even a question, nothing he could lie himself out of if caught. Gertrude had been very clear. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay away from Michael</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is trouble</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Do not go to the ball</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been successfully breaking that first rule for a while now. But tonight was different. No rushed, stolen kisses, constantly aware that at any point they could be caught. No sneaking around and ducking into dark, hidden corners at every noise. The ball was a masked ball and Gerard would take advantage of it to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They drew eyes even in the busy ball room, of course they did. It was bustling and full of chatter and music, but Gerard’s gown, like his mask, was the deepest black and richly decorated with the tiniest silver crystals - it had been a challenge to hide, but Gerard had gotten so very good at hiding and lying in the past years - his hair elaborately put up with matching black silk flowers. Michael beside him in an equally dramatic gown, reds and yellows and oranges, shades Gerard had never seen on fabric, richly embroidered and decorated with gold that caught the lights in the room and shimmered in colours it shouldn’t. The mask, like Gerry’s, covered only the upper half of his face, crimson lips pulled into the grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael acknowledged nobody, though plenty of masked people nodded at him and Gerard thought he recognised one or another, upon a first glance. It was never true at the second look, and he didn’t really care, let Michael lead him through the crowd and onto the dance floor. The music was slow, a waltz, and Gerard finally found use for all those hours spent learning to dance. Of all the useless lessons he had to take, dancing was still the skill he used the least. He usually did avoid balls. Usually, Michael wasn’t there to go with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no free space on the dance floor, but Michael still started to dance and, to Gerard’s surprise, they did not bump into anyone as they moved. Like there weren’t any people at all, except, of course, Gerard could still hear the chatter, low, under the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael moved with the confidence of somebody who knew exactly what he was doing, movements smooth - too smooth for Gerard’s teacher, he knew, and Gerard wondered if Michael had learned to dance in that same room in the mansion, if she had gotten mad at Michael the way she did at Gerard for every misstep - and perfectly timed. Although not necessarily perfectly timed to the music playing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard was still impressed that even when Michael pulled him into a direction he was sure he could see or hear people in, there was no collision. Especially since, upon closer inspection, these people seemed to be barely moving. Gerard was the one being guided over the dancefloor and twirled. The people around him, if he tried to pay attention, seemed to stay in place. Or maybe not quite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are these people?” Gerard asked after Michael pulled him close again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael looked at him with those grey eyes that looked a million colours in the ball room lights, even though the mask should have kept them in shadow. It was like the shimmering gold of his dress had somehow made it into his eyes, too. He twirled Gerard once more. "They do not know you. You do not know them." He pulled Gerard close again with a grin. “No questions will be asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had moved along the dance floor that made no sense, since it seemed a lot bigger than it had looked before, and Gerard caught a glimpse of the far wall. It was mirrored, the biggest mirror Gerard had ever seen, and it did not show what he saw when Michael turned him back around towards the dancers. Or it did, but not quite. The figures looked slightly twisted, maybe, colours just a little off each time Gerard turned his head from dance floor to mirror. It seemed to look different every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are they like you?" Gerard mumbled, looking up at Michael.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard didn’t know what Michael was, exactly. Gertrude refused to tell him why he had been made to leave the mansion. The mirror was definitely showing more colours than people by now. Maybe the people didn’t quite look right anymore outside the mirror either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grin Michael gave him was brimming with amusement. "Ah, what would that mean, my lovely bookburner?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The name always made Gerard smile, a distant memory of a cold night that had changed that miserable excuse of a life of strict schedules and stricter rules, going from doing one woman’s bidding to doing another’s. He wasn’t supposed to burn that book, not so carelessly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would draw eyes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Gertrude always said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it had. And if Gerard had noticed the fact that those eyes never seemed to have quite the same colour in the dim light of that alley, if he had considered that the figure had emerged from nothing that night, he didn’t give it a second thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not when the smile on that handsome face was so charming, not when the voice had such a pleasant cadence to it. Not when having him stand close sent such a pleasant tingle down Gerard’s spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take long to find out it was even better when they touched, Gerard’s skin humming under the slightest brush of Michael’s hand. Even right now, through Gerard’s black gloves, he could feel that tingling sensation where Michael’s hand held his. Muted, but undeniably there. Anticipatory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard matched Michael’s grin with one of his own, black-painted lips quirking up at the corners. "Are they real?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard the raised eyebrow in Michael’s voice when he spoke, tone playful, "Am I not real?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael leaned in, but Gerard twisted to the side, just out of reach with a wink. "Not a real human.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another twirl, this time Michael brought Gerard’s gloved hand to his lips, mumbled against it, "Is that a problem?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard grinned. "Not at all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The music seemed different now, maybe quicker. Maybe simply wrong. It was perfect. Gerard’s hair was coming loose, silk flowers brushing his arms on their way down. He didn’t question it, despite knowing full well how to do his hair so it would stay in place. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> was no concern when Michael swept him off his feet, moved them across the endless, crowded but empty dance floor with dizzying grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael was holding him closer than was proper and Gerard didn’t know since when, time and space vague as the music drowned out chatter that had probably never been there. People were still looking, but Gerry was fairly sure they didn’t exist. It was all colour and distortion in the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s voice, however, lovely as always, was clear as he spoke, "Are you very...attached to your humanity, my beloved little flame?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s fingers were on his chin, tipping his head back, and they felt a lot sharper than Gerard remembered. The ones around his waist felt a lot longer, too. There were more colours in the mirror, people seemingly gone, the violins barely sounded like such anymore. They were still dancing, though Gerard barely noticed his own movements. Too slow for the music, if it could still be called music.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of it mattered when Michael looked at him like this. Nearly reverent, like Gerard was the most precious thing on earth, important and adored. It made Gerard’s heart skip a beat, and he thought that if it decided to stop right now, he wouldn’t mind. Those strange eyes, so full of love for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him, </span>
  </em>
  <span>would be the perfect last thing to see before passing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard wasn’t attached to much in his life. He felt trapped, suffocated. His humanity was no exception. "Not horribly." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s grin was maybe a little too wide, teeth a little too sharp as he twirled Gerard again. His arm seemed to go farther this time. Gerard chuckled, delighted, hair swaying around his shoulders with the movement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because we might just dance it away tonight."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard considered. He might have lost all sense of time and space, but his mind was still clear. Would it be so bad? Michael seemed to be fine, to be</span>
  <em>
    <span> free</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Gerard was the most happy with him, back turned to whatever Gertrude wanted him to do, where she wanted him to fit in. Gerard had never wanted any of it, and he still didn’t. He wanted Michael. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe if Gertrude would have really wanted him to stay away from Michael she should have been honest with him, told him what was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would you still be there?" Gerard asked, curious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Michael’s grin grew even wider. When had his blond curls come loose from its ribbon? It seemed to be moving, catching the light. Hypnotising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will not rid yourself of me quite so easily, Gerard,” he purred, close again, and Gerard shivered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a rarity for Michael to call him by his name, reserved for nights were they had a little more time. Michael would breathe Gerard’s name into every patch of exposed, warm skin, as long fingers found their way underneath Gerard’s expensive clothes. Gerard always loved how he said it, like some sort of twisted prayer, bewitched. It never failed to make him shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gerard looked up at him with a smile. "Then I shall not miss it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile Michael returned was positively radiant. “Wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the room was dissolving around them, the mirror everywhere and nowhere, lights twisting people who weren’t into colours and shapes Gerard did not recognise. It felt distinctly wrong, like Michael did, and so it felt quite perfect as far as Gerard was concerned. And if his voice sounded a little distorted when he joined Michael’s laughter, and if his fingers seemed longer when he wrapped them around Michael’s hand, Gerard took notice of it with something akin to glee. Michael tipped him back for a kiss at an impossible angle, and Gerard knew they would never have to stop again.</span>
</p>
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